Captive - Remastered
by NinaRoja
Summary: When Mufasa, against all the odds, survives the fall during the stampede, Scar's final attempt to avoid exile and become King is to hold Simba as a hostage. This is a major re-write of my most popular story to date, and this remastered version promises to be longer, more detailed and more emotional than the original draft ever was.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello everyone! **

**If you were active in this section of starting from the end of August to early/mid November 2011, you may remember a story**_** very**_** similar to this one. In fact, this is the same story, only with much, much more depth, emotion and length. I will refrain from giving a long-winded explanation as to why I am doing this (for that, please see the final chapter of my story "Reprisal") For now, I will just return to my former chapter-starting quip: Onward! **

**CAPTIVE**

Prologue

"_Simba, what have you done?"___

The dark lion watched as the weeping child before him tried, and failed, to articulate his words into an understandable sentence. How could he? His dead father lay mere inches behind him. Any other being, with heart and soul and everything else, would have been filled with sadness and pity at the sight before them, but not Scar. These qualities had been stripped from him long ago, leaving this empty shell behind. Not that he cared, really. This was the way he had grown to like it.

"I… I – I – I didn't… I couldn't… I tried to... he… he…Oh please!"

Simba collapsed into fresh tears once more, overwhelmed by grief and panic. He fell forward and clung to his Uncle's leg, sobbing into the wiry fur that covered it.

"Help me," he choked, "I… don't… know… what… to…do."

The effort of forcing out a coherent phrase took its toll, and visibly so. The agonising howls emitting from the cub only intensified. The adult lion placed a paw on his back, in mock sympathy. As he rhythmically stroked up and down his nephew's back, he cast his gaze towards his fallen brother. It was no wonder the cub was so traumatised: the fallen king was completely battered from his forced-descent from the cliff face. His whiskers crumpled, his eyes shut, blood slowly seeping from all manner of wounds, he was almost unrecognisable. His grandiose golden fur was dusty and unkempt looking, as well as streaked with scarlet. His sleek auburn mane seemed dull in comparison to its former condition. The huge paws on the end of limbs of rippling muscle were sprawled in all directions, a result of the impact. Looking at him, it gave Scar grotesque satisfaction. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, and then some. The sight of Mufasa so destroyed-looking was a bonus.

Now, all that was left was to finish what he had started.

"Well, Simba," Scar said, quietly, "You daren't return to Pride Rock."

The cub quickly looked up, confused, scared-looking, his giant amber eyes bulging from their sockets.

"But… I-"

"Surely you didn't think you could go back?" the dark lion continued, taking inward glee from this, "You thought the rest of the Pride would welcome you back with open arms? The one responsible for the death of their king?"

The final sentence seemed to descend upon Simba like a boulder dropped from a ledge. His tiny eyes only grew wider with fear, tears still tumbling. He shrank away from his Uncle's touch, turning to stare at his fallen father. He began to shake violently, his breathing becoming much more shallow and rapid.

"Obviously not as smart as we all thought," Scar said, icily, "your father seemed to be doing such a good job…"

He supressed a laugh. Oh, how he was enjoying this. Drawing out the suffering of his nephew, a source of infinite problems for him, was almost therapeutic. He only wanted to continue, unable to stop himself.

"What will your mother think when she finds out? Oh, the shock may just _kill _her. My, who knows what she would do if she actually _saw _you."

Simba flattened himself to the floor of the gorge, his eyes shut, yet still streaming with tears.

"It was an accident!" he wailed again, "I didn't mean for it to happen! I didn't mean for _anything _to happen…"

"Oh of course, _of course _you didn't," Scar said, pulling Simba into an embrace once more, "of course you didn't set out to kill your own father."

He subtly accentuated the final four words, if only to hammer his point home more.

"And yet, here we are… the King is dead."

The cub in his paws fell silent, perhaps turning these thoughts over and over in his head. His nephew in his grasp seemed so impossibly small: one clench or swipe of his claws and it would all be over. His bony neck could be snapped in an instant… a quick slash of the throat and he would breathe no more… but this was not an option. It couldn't be. Simba was to be payment to Scar's loyal servants, yet a simple carcass would not be enough. The satisfaction of the chase and the killing was a big part of it, one he didn't want to deprive them of. He had already had his fair share through his brother, and oh how satiating that had been. Years of resentment and bitterness instantly quenched…

He let the silence linger a while longer. He let his paw travel the length of Simba's back before he spoke again.

"Don't worry, Simba," he whispered, "Uncle will help you."

The cub looked up, still drenched in his grief.

"What do I do?" he breathed, his tone-of-voice almost begging for solace.

Scar quickly glanced into the distance. He could very faintly just about see the outline of the three hyenas slowly approaching, growing impatient.

"Run away, Simba," he whispered.

His nephew continued to stare up at him.

"Wh-what?"

"Run. Don't look back. Get as far away from here as you can. Never return."

The cub didn't move.

"Go!"

Simba was stunned beyond speech. His eyes still wide, still staring, first to Scar and then to his father's corpse, he stumbled away, running down the gorge, around the corner and out of sight, without a word to anyone.

Scar watched him go, not turning around. He sensed the hyenas behind him not to soon after, not needing to turn around and look. He already knew what they wanted.

"…kill him."

That was all the prompt they needed. The three of them shot off in pursuit of the cub, saliva flying from their jaws in all directions, howling and cackling as they went. As much as Scar would have liked to follow, and sadistically watch his nephew's final moments, he knew there wasn't time. He had to return to Pride Rock, practice his fake sympathy, prepare a eulogy that could make even the most stony-hearted lion weep through the night… looking at the dead lion before him for a final time, he turned around and began the journey home.

He had travelled merely a few meters away when something made him stop in his tracks, and his blood run cold. A cough.

_A cough._

Whipping around, he hurriedly backed away into the shadows and out of sight, and watched, disbelieving, as Mufasa raised his head where he lay, looking around.

By the gods… _NO. _

The impossible was unfolding right in front of him. His brother, who moments before had Scar so convinced that he was dead, was now most definitely alive. The dark lion watched as Mufasa regrouped his splayed limbs and slowly, yet surely, stood up.

Every single one of Scar's instincts told him to attack, tear out his weakened opponent's throat, seal the deal… but he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot in complete shock…

"Simba?" Mufasa croaked, looking around again, searching through the mist for any sign of his son.

Wincing in pain, he took a step forward, and then another, searching for any sight or smell of Simba, but it was impossible. The stench of dust, wildebeest and his own blood made any trace of the cub completely hidden. Staying completely silent, he turned (Scar shrank back further) and slowly made to leave the gorge, headed in the direction of Pride Rock.

Scar watched him go, latching onto a low platform jutting out from the wall of the gorge and clumsily clambering over it. Any chance of Scar's success left with him.

Seething, yet unable to express it without giving away his position, Scar swatted at the air, screwing his eyes shut and digging his claws into the earth. He was completely doomed. Whether or not Mufasa would kill him, or just leave him to rot in the desert, was unclear, but of what he did know, he knew his seemingly flawless plan was now completely ruined.

Amidst the chaos of his thoughts, a sudden idea came flashing to the forefront of his mind. He had to stop for a moment to process it, before his heart began to beat faster and faster, the excitement within him growing. A grin slowly spread across his face: this was his last chance to regain control of the situation. Were he to succeed, he would be completely unstoppable. He let his gaze slowly travel down the gorge, following the path his nephew had taken only minutes before…

With that, he began to run in that same direction. He only hoped he wasn't too late, that he could beat the hyenas before his plan was ruined again.

And as he ran, a bizarre mantra drummed in his head, along to the rhythm of his strides.

_Use the cub._

…**So? Hope you liked it. Stay tuned! **

**I can't wait to get this story up off the ground. **

**See you in the next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to the first official chapter, folks! I'm glad the prologue was so well received.**

**If you're a newcomer, I'll take this opportunity to thank you for clicking on this story. The original draft was inspired by a very vivid dream I had a few months before I started writing it. This of course rings true for this version as well. **

**USER-REVIEW-REPLY-SECTION! (It's back!) **

**Surburia: Thanks! I'm glad you are liking it so far. I'll admit I do agree with you, but I don't think I'll change it now. I'll keep working on new chapters instead **

**Kiarainu: Gracias, amigo. Abrazos para tí también.**

**Almondbutter: Oh, ok. Thanks for the compliments about the writing, though.**

**Guest: Simba evil? Don't you mean Scar?**

**TMNTMentalistTLK lover: Another returning reader! I made you cry? Wow, I instilled emotion! Mission accomplished! Enjoy **

Chapter One

The world had ended, or, at least, Simba s had.

A strange darkness seemed to have descended, and a terrible adrenaline was coursing through his veins, pumped onward by fear. His mind was a blur, he couldn't even begin to take in what had just happened. All he knew was that he needed to get away, and fast. Electricity seemed to be surging through his entire body, every nerve and cell on edge as sparks raced down his legs and along his spine, making his movement jerky and uneven. Heeding his uncle's words for the first time, he scrambled onwards down the gorge, clumsily stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

The gorge, unbeknownst to Simba, at its end opened up onto a wide expanse of barren land; a sort of buffer-zone between the Pridelands and the Outlands. Beyond that was just desert, and beyond that was anyone's guess. The only time the cub had been outside his own borders was to visit the Elephant Graveyard, but his father had been there that time...

This thought alone brought reality crashing down upon him once again. In shock and confusion, he tripped and sprawled across the ground, face first. He could feel the panic rising within him again: his father was dead. He wasn't coming back... And it was all his fault. Tears welled up in his eyes again and spilled over with no effort at all, leaving tiny little marks in the sand below . They were the only water for miles around.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to convince himself that this was all a terrible, terrible dream. The moment he opened them, his father would be there, ready to chastise him for causing such a scene and then to sweep him up in his paws and tell him everything was going to be OK. They'd go home, his mother would be there, and all of this would be forgotten...

But that didn't happen. His eyes opened and he was greeted by the barren landscape before him, stretching away into the distance and disappearing beyond the horizon. Nothing but sand for miles and miles, with no discernible outline of even a tree. A lion could wander out there and nobody would even know - almost as if with the first step they had been wiped from existence completely.

As he was picking himself up off the ground, shaking his head to try and clear it, he froze at the sound of laughter. Hyena laughter. It was enough to make his blood run cold. The electric sensation he had felt before had returned, but this time with more sting, as he felt his heart sink, and the bottom of his stomach vanish. Filling with dread, he slowly turned around...

...and there they were. Three of them, eyes alight with the excitement of the ensuing chase and kill, yellow fangs dripping with saliva.

"Well, well, well," the female of them said, "would you look at this? An itty-bitty cub, out here all alone..."

Simba swallowed, too terrified to move. He was suddenly aware of how completely on his own he was this time. Nala wasn't here, Zazu wasn't here, his father... He definitely wasn't here, and oh, how he was longing for him to be. For anyone to be, just so that he wasn't by himself facing these creatures.

"You lost, kitty?" another crooned, "come over here. We can help you."

He silently prayed to himself that these were just empty words, and they would leave him alone. They wouldn't be bothered to chase him under the burning heat of the slowly descending sun, especially for such a small end reward. With any luck, they'd turn around and head back the way they had come, in search of another, larger target.

But they didn't: they were coming closer, slowly at first, but it was only a matter of time before they broke into a run, and the cub didn't intend to just sit here and watch them. He didn't wait any longer: as their laughter pierced the air once more, he turned and ran, flat-out sprinting towards the setting sun. He was already exhausted from running from the wildebeests, but he knew he'd rather starve to death in the desert than be torn to pieces.

"Hey? Where ya going? Don'cha want us to help you find your daddy?"

They were mocking him, and then they were going to kill him, no doubt about it. Their cruel words hit him in the back and stabbed like knives. If he kept running, would they get bored and give up? Leaving him to be claimed by the sands and the heat?

He was wrong. They were most definitely still coming, the sound of their paws drumming against the ground and kicking up the sand was getting closer and closer behind him. In a matter of seconds, they had caught up with him. He gave a sharp squeal as the female sank her teeth into one of his hind legs, the pain burning white hot as he felt blood seeping from the wound it had left. With one jerk of her head, she had flipped him through the air, before he landed roughly onto the ground at their feet. She had him pinned down with her paws, her massive size compared to his own making escape impossible.

Simba struggled furiously, only eliciting more laughter from his pursuers.

"Let me go!" he squealed, desperately, flailing his limbs around in an attempt to become free, dust and sand flying everywhere as he did so.

The hyena jeered down at him.

"What's that, kitty-cat?" she lilted, "I can't hear you meow!"

Her companions laughed at this.

"Aw man, where am I gonna bite first?" one of them mused, coming closer, "it's been so long since I last had lion cub."

The stench of his hot, smelly breath hit the roof of Simba's mouth, causing him to gag. His every hair stood on end as the hyena sniffed him all over, the tickling sensation left by his wet nose anything but pleasant.

The third seemed incapable of speech, yet, at the same time, he was the most menacing of them all. Now that he had stopped laughing, his eyes were dark, saliva was dripping from his jaw, and the only sound coming from him was his slow, ragged breathing.

"Let's not waste any more time," the female said, her taste for Simba's blood driving her crazy from the waiting, "I get first pickings since I caught 'im."

"And so?" the other snapped back, "I woulda caught 'im if you hadn'ta shoved me out of the way!"

All of this only prolonged Simba's agony as he lay in wait for them to start ripping at him, still held down by the massive weight above him. Listening as they bickered, he wondered, would they be merciful, and kill him first? Or just start eating him as he was? He remembered, when he was very small, his mother had warned him about hyenas: how they ate anything and everything they could get their paws on, tearing the limbs off their prey while they were still alive, devouring it entirely until barely even the bones were left. His eyes welled with tears once more, partially from the thought of the pain, but mostly thinking about her: how shocked she was going to be when she heard what he had done, how angry and ashamed she was going to be of him... And how much he wanted to see her again.

"...Aw, who _cares _who goes first? The legs are the best part, and there's four of 'em."

"Oh yeah? There's three of us, genius, who gets double?"

"I do, obviously. Without me the two of you'd probably still be chasing him until nightfall."

Her companion growled, his frustration mounting.

"Well, if you get two legs I get the neck."

He paused.

"... and the belly."

"Uh-uh. _I'm_ having the belly. You can have the tail."

"You're not getting two legs AND the belly. You can have the tail!"

They seemed ready for an all-out brawl - Simba just wished it would be over already.

"Ugh, fine then. I say we just gut 'im, and everyone takes what they can get, agreed?"

Her companion paused, turning this concept over in his head, whilst Simba's stomach clenched at the thought, the image from his mother's story swimming into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the agony to ensue.

"... Agreed."

Before Simba could do anything else, he had been flipped over onto his back. The hyena had her paws on his chest, bearing down upon him, eyes glittering with anticipation.

"Say hi to Mufasa for us, Kid."

As she prepared to lunge downwards, a sudden weight knocked her from the side, and she was sent yelping away across the sand. One of the others, in a bid to claim the entire catch for himself, had barreled into her, snatching Simba up by the hind-leg as he did so. The cub cried out in pain again as his fangs re-pierced the existing wound, feeling sick and dizzy as he was hurled around.

"Oh no ya don't!"

In a matter of seconds, he had been yanked from the first hyenas' jaw and was sent sprawling across the ground, sand filling his mouth as he skidded to a halt. As fast as he was able, he tried to scramble to his feet in a last effort for escape.

It didn't last: the next one to strike was their voiceless companion. He cuffed Simba from behind and in an instant had him by the neck, ready to bite down...

The other two sprinted over, latching onto whatever parts of them that they could (his tail, his leg again), and started to pull in opposite directions. The agony mounted ten-fold, and Simba knew he'd be with his father soon...

"STOP!"

A single cry split the air like a clap of thunder, its tone a mixture of authority and panic. At the sound of this new voice, the three of them dropped him instantly, like it were a command issued from a higher. Silently thanking the gods, feeling stunned by the sudden release and ensuring all his limbs were still attached, Simba looked around to discover his saving grace.

It was his Uncle Scar, a short distance away. He looked in a great deal of distress: Simba could only assume he had heard or seen the hyenas give chase and had come to his nephew's rescue. Finally! He wasn't alone anymore; his prayers had been answered. Relief cascading over him like a wave, he stumbled to his feet and ran to him, as fast as he could on his now-injured leg, diving between his forepaws to safety.

He had expected his uncle to immediately start to fight, like Mufasa had that night at the graveyard, but he didn't move at all. In fact, he was stood perfectly still, just casually observing the hyenas before them. Stranger still, they were looking back at him, their gazes full of seeming-reverence. From his crouched position, Simba peered up at him, studying the depths of his wiry face for any sign or hint of what was about to happen.

Something definitely wasn't right here. Simba shifted his paws, nervously, and felt his heart begin to beat faster again. The comfort he had felt was now starting to drain out of him, as neither party said or did anything. All that could be heard was the gentle, far-off whistling sound of the wind, blowing up clouds of sand in the distance. The cub tensed himself, ready to break into a run again if he needed to: the hyenas could be the first one to snap out of the hypnotic trance they all seemed to have entered.

Scar finally spoke.

"I'll take it from here," he said, softly, still not looking down at his nephew.

This brought Simba some reassurance, but only for a brief moment. It was suddenly apparent that his Uncle had not been talking to him. He very slowly rose from the ground, and shakily, nervously, opened his mouth to speak.

"...U-u-uncle Scar?"

At the sound of the cub's voice, the paralysis snapped. In a heartbeat, the adult's gaze had jumped towards Simba. His penetrating green eyes, paired with a very small, subtle grin was anything but comforting in this situation. Simba, the fear within him spiking, slowly began to back away, knowing that any other help was nowhere near.

"Now, Simba," Scar said, voice still quiet but now icy as cold water, "I won't hurt you if I can help it."

All good feelings gone, Simba turned on the spot and launched himself in the opposite direction, his only goal now to put as much distance between himself and them as possible. His head now pounded with the confusion of where Scar now stood, what his words meant, why he knew those hyenas...?

He snapped out of his thoughts abruptly: with a sharp jerk, a weight had come down upon his tail, bringing his flat out sprint to a jolting halt. Glancing back, Scar, his eyes glittering as he pulled his prize towards him, loomed against the backdrop of the setting sun, the aforementioned grin now an all-out sneer.

"Gotcha," he crooned, somewhat sarcastically, but menacingly all the same.

"Let go!" Simba wailed, thrashing violently for freedom, "let me go! HELP! HELP ME!"

He was screaming and sobbing fit to bust, his tiny claws out to try and fend off his oppressor, who, now finished pulling, was gripping him tightly in his paws, his much-larger talons pricking against his skin.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME! HEL-!"

He was cut off and shoved backwards, as Scar, with great ease, forcefully placed a paw to his mouth and pinned the cub against his other foreleg, muffling his cries. Still struggling, Simba latched onto the gag and tried to pull it from his muzzle, but the harder he tried, the harder Scar held him. The adult was trembling with excitement, so much so that he probably couldn't feel the tiny claws sinking into him.

"There we are," Scar sighed, relaxing his body but not relinquishing his grip, "you've led me a merry dance today, my boy! Thank gods I got to you before those brutes did."

He turned them around to face the hyenas, dragging the thrashing cub across the sand, his legs sprawling in all directions. Paw still clenching him tightly, he forcefully moved Simba's head to look at them, confusedly staring back at Scar, frustrated and disappointed that their catch had been taken from them.

"Just look at them. Slobbering, mangy, stupid poachers. Am I right, Simba?"

He was leaned in so close to the cub that his lips were practically brushing against his ear, and Simba's eyes widened in horror: how could he have known?

"Told you everyone knew about that, didn't I?"

He chuckled lightly, flicking out his tongue and licking his nephew across the cheek, a soft, muffled moan emitting from the latter as he did so.

One of the hyenas piped up to defend themselves.

"We were just doin' what you told us to do," he said, indignantly, "you told us to kill 'im, so we were gonna."

Scar looked up from Simba, still subdued beneath his paw, to survey them.

"Yes, that is true. But you see, my friends, there has been a slight change of plan for tonight."

They cocked their heads in puzzlement. Scar had lived to see this cub dead from the moment he had been born (and boy, did they know about it). Surely he wasn't about to have a change of heart now?

"An annoying change, yes, but one that we can work to our advantage."

He leaned back down to his nephew, instinctively dropping the level of his voice with it. He was almost drunk from the power he was feeling right now.

"And it's all down to you, my boy. You're going to help us do it."

Still trying to tug the paw away, Simba shook his head furiously.

"Oh, but you are," Scar sang, delicately, gazing intently at him, "you don't even have to do anything. You just have to sit there and keep that little mouth of yours shut, hmmm?"

At the word "shut", he flicked the claw of his last toe downwards, so that its point settled directly on the cub's neck. It was light enough not to draw blood, but hard enough to make the message clear: Simba was to be a participant in this game, whether he liked it or not.

"Besides, you haven't even heard what it is yet."

"Well, what is it, then?"

The hyenas were staring at him, champing at the bit to know.

"Do we still get our share? What we agreed on?"

"Yes, yes," Scar tutted, rolling his eyes, "you still get asylum."

"And what about the food?"

"The food too, the food too!" he snapped, glowering at them, "but that's not what's important right now!"

He had started to shake with excitement again.

"Then -what?"

Simba, down below, scared as he was, couldn't help but be drawn in, as well. He was desperate to know why Scar had decided not to kill him, and instead was now forcing him into helping him (and how). He looked up with tiny eyes, slowly starting to swim with tears, partly from the terror but also from the effort of still trying to pull the paw away.

Scar held them on tenterhooks for a few moments longer.

"Mufasa is alive."

From below him, what sounded like a strangled howl, incoherent under the obstruction, sounded. Simba began to struggle anew, his rear legs scrabbling against the ground as his aching forelegs dug their claws in deeper. His father was alive? How could this be? He had seen him, felt him, tried and failed to get a response from him... It was a miracle he would have welcomed warmly, had he not been in such a grave situation still.

"You see, Simba?" Scar crowed, resuming his too-close-for-comfort position, "I thought you might like to hear that. And Daddy's probably wondering where you are, too."

Simba was shaking even harder now, his mouth still held tightly shut, still practically immobilised by the huge paw. Some of the tears began to spill over, his emotions were so tumultuous in all this exhaustion and confusion.

"Shh-shh-shh, don't cry my little Prince. You'll be seeing him soon; we all will. Just one quick stop over at our place and we'll be headed to Pride Rock by nightfall."

"Well if Mufasa's not dead," the female hyena interrupted, "then how is that a "change of plan"? If anything that's a "plan failed"."

"But, Shenzi," Scar continued, still buzzing with energy, "my brother has just survived a fall from a cliff! He'll be injured, exhausted - he's not going to be able to run a kingdom like that, which is why I will be taking over."

Hearing this, the hyenas grinned, and laughed to show their approval.

"And, just in case Mufasa still needs convincing that it's a good idea, that's where Simba comes in."

Simba cringed and turned his head away as Scar's face moved in even closer. His dark mane tickled his cheek, while his hot breath and tone of voice sent yet more shivers coursing down his spine.

"It's all quite simple really, dear one," he said, quietly, "your father can either surrender his title to me, or watch you die at my claw."

He moved his great talon gently down the cub's neck, feeling a shudder rack his nephew's body, before the first stifled sobs began to emerge.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've all seen the lengths he goes to for you. My gods, he leapt into a sea of wildebeests for you today! It'll surely extend to this - light of his life, golden child that you are."

He sat up, the synthetic niceness he had put on to scare his nephew melting away in an instant.

_"It had better," _he muttered, darkly.

He took note of the darkness that had descended around them - the last golden shard of the sun was barely visible above the horizon. Behind them, the moon was coming into view, full and bright. It was almost symbolic of the coming of a new era.

"But friends, we have no time for this idle chit-chat," Scar said, spurring himself into action, "there is much to be done, and not a lot of time."

He glanced down at Simba again.

"...Besides, Sarabi needs her baby back."

His uncle's cruel words stung like bees, and Simba, terrified beyond sounds, still had a lone tear silently sliding down his face.

"And who are we not to honour the wishes of a fine lioness?" he mumbled, caressing the cub's cheek with his own. The child grunted with the effort of trying to evade him, but of course failed, still pinned tightly in position. His soft baby fur, normally smooth and flat against his skin, was left visibly roughed up as Scar's bristly hair scratched against it.

The adult lion cast a look at the barren ground around them, spotting a dead pile of creepers at the base of the final remnants of a long-since rotted tree stump, not too far away. Dragging Simba with him, he moved closer to investigate.

"Perfect," he whispered, grinning wickedly, "open wide, Simba."

In one, fluid motion, he had flipped him onto his back. Before Simba could say or do anything, he gave yet another smothered, choked cry, as Scar hurriedly stuffed the dead creepers into his mouth. Effectively gagged, the cub could barely even make a mumble.

"There," Scar said, admiring his "work", "now you won't be screaming the house down on the way up to Pride Rock. Couldn't have you warning anyone in advance now, could we?"

He rolled his nephew back onto his stomach, before leaning in again one final time from behind, crouching low over him.

"And you'd be best to hold those there," he breathed, his tone suddenly dangerous, "I don't want to hurt you if I can help it - I don't think Mufasa would be too pleased if I brought him damaged goods - but if I have to, I will."

Simba gulped audibly, but didn't move, the fur along his spine standing on end from the overwhelming fear crashing through his body.

"Good boy," the sickly-sweet intonation returned, before Scar landed one final lick of fake affection on his ear.

The adult lion rose, and looked to the hyenas.

"You know where we're going."

He cocked his head at them in mock disaproval. They nodded, and launched themselves away into the night, cackling and howling to the full moon, now hanging bright in the sky above their heads.

Scar looked up at it for a moment, a careful paw on Simba's back to prevent any final dashes for freedom.

"Showtime," he said quietly, it's lucid glow reflecting in his glassy eyes, filling them with a light they did not naturally have.

With that, he turned and picked up Simba, who did not struggle. Quickly, with purpose, he strode off in the direction from which they had come, with perhaps the most valuable thing he had ever had in his possession securely locked in his jaws.

Simba hung unmoving in Scar's grip, his legs swinging limply as his captor pressed on into the night. Unable to speak, make a sound or even form a coherent thought in his head, exhausted beyond the point of tears, he just let the icy queasiness of the uncertainty of what was going to happen next wash over him.

He was filled with dread, and yet, even with everything that was happening, there still seemed the tiniest, feintest glimmer of hope.

His father was alive.

**EEP! That was bar-none the most intense thing I have ever written ever. Apologies for taking so long, but I was busy A) dropping out of Uni (lol) and B) as one fo my least favourite chapters of the original, I really wanted to expand this scene to the true potential I always imagined it having. Hopefully I've achieved that.**

**Thanks for reading - see you next chapter! (Hopefully a **_**lot **_**sooner than last time) **


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